


His Cellist

by Era_Penn



Series: Through Death We Won't Part [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Budapest, Dreams, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Friendship, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, I failed at that bit, I'm Coming Home, Insomnia, Iron Taser, Jarvis is BAMF, Loss, Love, M/M, Mourning, Music, My keyboard's all wet and salty, Nick Fury Lies, Nighmares, Pheels, Protective Avengers, Rare Pairings, Recovery, Sleep, Sort of a Songfic, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death, The Cellist - Freeform, Tony Feels, Whiskey Lullaby, dreams as nightmares, may be out of character, memories as nightmares, supportive team, try not to cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long before Manhattan, Phil Coulson made his two favorite superspies promise him something during the clusterf*** that was Budapest.</p><p>If he ever died, they were to find the cellist and make sure he didn't do something stupid.</p><p>They were more than a little surprised when they succeeded.</p><p>A/N: To those who have been following - I made a few adjustments to the timeline, but nothing major. Can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whiskey Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i'm drowning in the waters of my soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088335) by [Roodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roodles/pseuds/Roodles). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles for Tony will be pulled from the song "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisley featuring Alison Krauss. Hear it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gV3g9LCvPc).  
> Chapter titles for Phil will be pulled from "I'm Coming Home" by Diddy - Dirty Monkey, and Skylar Grey. Hear it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucQR_F4bFaI).

Clint stared down at his shawarma, mechanically taking a bite in the silence. The other Avengers looked tired, worn. Coulson was gone, the Helicarrier nearly crashed, New York in shambles...

Coulson was gone. He stood abruptly. "Shit - I have to go."

"What? We just saved NY. We get to take a day." Tony's voice was exhausted, empty, nothing like the billionaire genius had been described.

"I made a promise, and it's time to pay up." Clint replied, weary. Natasha stood too. 

" _We_ made a promise."

* * *

_"Shit, Coulson, don't go dying on me now, we're so close -"_

_"Barton -"_

_"Shut up, idiot, keep breathing -"_

_"Barton!" Clint stilled, hands pressing down on the bleeding bullet wound, in the abdomen, Coulson had lost too much blood. "Promise me. If I don't live, make sure my cellist doesn't do something stupid. Make sure he doesn't play sad music for as long as he did before." Clint blinked. His cellist? Sad music? What? "Promise me, Barton."_

_"We promise, sir." Natasha. "But it won't be necessary."_

_Coulson nodded faintly before passing out. Med evac was only a minute out. Coulson would make it. He had to._

_Clint and Natasha didn't know how to cheer up a cellist._

* * *

They scoured the SHIELD mainframe, but found nothing. Fury was watching, but didn't try to stop them. Within two weeks he got annoyed about the system being overloaded and drew them aside.

"You won't find him here. Coulson was too careful."

"With all due respect sir, we don't have anywhere else to look." And Clint knew Fury wouldn't give up the information.

"I suggest you start with Ms. Potts."

Clint and Natasha shared a startled glance. Looked like they'd be taking Tony up on his offer of rooms at the Tower after all.

* * *

Pepper capped her pen and gave the two agents in front of her her full attention. "The cellist."

"Yeah."

"Why are you looking?" Pepper's eyes were sharp.

"A couple years back an op went bad. Budapest." Clint said. "We promised that if he ever didn't make it back, we'd find the cellist and make sure he didn't do something stupid."

"I can't tell you. But he's not far. And it's a bit late to stop him from doing something stupid." Her voice was sad. "He's as well as can be expected."

* * *

They assumed that meant the cellist was in the Tower. It didn't surprise them as much as it would have Before; Tony was a generous man, and he had certainly admired Phil. So Clint watched. He watched Steve and Thor bond over mutual confusion, watched Natasha search the tower, watched Tony, who always looked exhausted and worn and nothing like his file. He was a little worried for the genius, who had gotten thinner and spent more and more time in the shop and less and less time sleeping.

After another two weeks, he didn't just watch. He saw. Or, more accurately, he heard.

He was wandering around aimlessly in the vents when the soft strains of 'Whiskey Lullaby' drifted through the echoing space. It was hesitant, shaky, like the musician's gulping sobs were singing through polished wood. Unlike the usual guitar, though, this song was played in the low, lovely strains of the cello. Clint followed the sound until he arrived in the ceiling above a space he'd been in before. It was large, open, and a magnificent piano stood in one corner. But that wasn't what drew his eye.

A chair was set in a corner of the room near the piano, facing out over the city. Quick, practiced fingers slid, shaking, across the strings. An open bottle of whiskey, nearly empty, stood on the piano's polished surface with a shattered shot glass and thin metal on a chain. A husky voice he recognized drew his eyes back to Tony's weathered face.

"...with a note that says I'll love her till I die..." Tony's voice cracked, "...And when we buried him beneath the willow, the angels sang a whiskey lullaby..." and he took a breath, letting the cello sing for him.

Clint slipped out of the vents, and the sound stopped. "What?" Tony asked.

"I didn't know you played cello."

"My mother was Italian. She loved the strings, so I learned them all, but I fell in love with the cello."

_"Lets wrap this up - my cellist is making Italian for dinner."_

_"Thought you only liked the genuine stuff." They were in Bermuda, tracking a ring of smugglers dealing in Stark weaponry, and it was quiet, for the moment._

_"His mother was Italian. She didn't only teach him to love the strings."_

"You know that promise Tasha and I made?"

"What about it?"

"We made it during one of the most miserable ops I've ever been on. We were in Budapest - Coulson was our handler, and for a while we weren't sure if he'd make it." Tony was as still as a statue, tense as a taught bowstring, hovering between flight or fight or surrender. "He made us promise him that if he didn't - if he ever didn't come home, we had to find someone for him and make sure they didn't do something stupid."

A choked sound slipped past Tony's lips. "Go away, Barton."

"If I do, are you going to do something stupid?"

Tony closed his eyes, shoulders slumping. "Not any stupider than I have been." Letting out a shuddering, whiskey-scented breath, he returned to staring out over the city, and Clint left him to his grief.


	2. He Spent His Whole Life Tryin' to Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't usually ship Coulson/Stark, but this just sort of happened and it got away from me.
> 
> Works for this fandom do that a lot.

"Natasha, I found him."

She turned, giving him her undivided attention.

"Tony Stark."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Loves the strings, plays the cello, his mother is Italian, and Fury gave him the dog tags."

Natasha nodded. "Well then. We have our work cut out for us. And step one is to make sure he eats."

* * *

He was being stalked by super spies.

He didn't really care, except they were the wrong friggin super spies. He wanted his back. Also, they kept leaving food all over his shop. How did they know his favorite flavor of Doritos and his love of cheese crackers and his hatred of almost all breakfast foods (excluding smoothies, bacon, and waffles). How did they know his favorite coffee blend (at least they didn't know how he took it) and how the HELL did they know he loved, loved, LOVED crappy Chinese!?

He ate the crackers and drank the water bottles, but every time he started on the Chinese or the waffles, or any full meal really, all he could think was that something was missing. And then he threw himself into work, because he wouldn't think about what.

He _couldn't_.

Only then he'd go to a too-big bed, and dream of the sky swallowing him up; and he'd wake in a cold sweat, not because he had almost died, but because he had lived. And he was alone again.

* * *

"Well, he's at least eating a little at regular intervals. Make a note, though - he won't eat if presented with full meals."

"Noted."

"Next, I suppose, would be to get him out of his shop for a few hours." Clint mused. "But how do we do that?"

"I think I can help." Clint jumped, but Natasha didn't react, raising an eyebrow at the supersoldier. "Team movie night, so Thor and I can catch up on pop culture, Thursday nights. Mandatory."

Clint blinked. "Huh. Good idea." 

Steve shrugged. "I'm worried he's killing himself down there," he said earnestly, as the two spies shared a glance, "and since we're a team now-"

"Steve," Natasha interrupted, "how much did you know about Coulson's cellist?"

"And remember that promise we made?"


	3. Hide the Whiskey On Your Breath

Steve was doodling as he thought. He wasn't as surprised as he would've thought he'd be at the discovery of Coulson's cellist. He could see how the steady, reliable agent could use someone spontaneous as Stark in his life, and vice versa. Now, though, he was doubly determined to help the genius.

So he'd revised his original movie night plan. Now it was team night. They'd eat dinner and watch a movie and play a game and watch another movie. They'd spend the whole evening together.

If he knew anything about losing a loved one, it was the loneliness at odds with a desire to be alone.

* * *

At first, Steve was worried that the whole ‘team night’ thing was going to backfire. Tony, Clint, Natasha, and Bruce came (Bruce giving Tony worried, sidelong glances) but it was quiet, awkward.

And then there was the sound of thunder and the crackling sizzle of lightning, and Thor arrived, beaming.

“My friends! Heimdall has informed me of you plans for a night for shieldbrothers! What shall we be doing?”

“Thor!” Tony beamed, apparently perfectly fine. “We’re trying to decide on a movie.”

“Ah, a story on a screen, yes? Lady Darcy told me about them. We should watch an epic tale of warriors!”

“Jarvis, pull up the Princess Bride.” Tony said.

“Oh, hell yes!” Clint crowed, launching himself onto the couch. “This is the best movie EVER.”

“What tale does it tell?”

“The most epic of epic adventures!” Clint replied, “It’s got a beautiful girl, and revenge plots, and trickery and battles, and monstrous creatures in dangerous lands.”

“It sounds quite thrilling!” Thor proclaimed, sitting beside the archer. “An excellent choice, Stark.”

Tony settled into an armchair, draping himself across the seat. “Well, of course it is,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I was directly involved.”

They got as far as the ROUSes before Tony jumped up. “POPCORN!” he declared. “We need some. I’ll go get it, you lot watch without me.”

Steve was fairly sure he was the only one who noticed the tenseness in the billionaire’s frame as he left the room, everyone else absorbed by the movie. No one commented when it took the man more than twenty minutes to return with the snack.

* * *

“...Pepper?” Bruce asked.

She’d been expecting this for some time. Ever since Clint and Natasha had figured out and told Steve. “Yes, Dr. Banner?”

“Why is Tony grieving?”

Tony had told her she could tell the doctor if he asked. “Are you sure you want to know?”

He nodded.

“Tony Stark has been… was married for almost four years.”

“Was?”

“Phillip Coulson-Stark is no longer among the living.” she said, blunt. “And Tony Stark-Coulson isn’t taking it well.”

Bruce looked shocked for a moment, and then sad. “OH. That explains a lot.”

“I would appreciate intervention with some sort of incredibly difficult scientific problem on the fourth.”

“Anniversary?”

“Precisely.”

* * *

Thor could see that one of his shieldbrothers was hurting, but could not discern the reason. The Man of Iron was aptly named; he was nearly unreadable and undoubtedly just as strong. However, he decided, he would not ask.

But if the other man ever needed to talk, Thor would be there to listen.


	4. I Can't Sleep Cause I Don't Like the Sh*t I Dream About

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was too excited, so you get this early. That might mean it'll be a while before you get the next chapter. Sorry.

Initially when his eyes blinked open, he couldn’t really feel anything. At all. It was like he was wrapped in fuzz, unable to move so much as a finger.

“Stand down, Agent Coulson.”

So he did. And he slept - or more accurately, fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

The next time he woke, he could feel pain. Mostly at his chest. It hurt like hell, but wasn’t unbearable, and he was still a little fuzzy. Fury had him on the good meds.

“Stand down, Coulson.”

But this time, he croaked out a word. “Cellist?”

He didn’t get an answer, and unwilling drifted back to sleep, fighting the drugs the entire time.

He woke up screaming, and those warm brown eyes still weren’t among the ones hovering around his bed.

* * *

Coulson wouldn’t sleep, and his recovery was slow. He needed rest, the medical staff insisted. It would be better if they put him back into his medically induced coma. When they tried, Coulson nearly killed himself again fighting them off.

_Two months today. Our fourth anniversary._

He wouldn’t sleep anymore. All he saw when he closed his eyes was Tony, beautiful, strong, brilliant Tony, sitting alone in that bloody room of nightmares in the tower, a gun and a bottle on the piano, staring out over the city, with whiskey words on his lips. And then Tony would turn, and he was crying, fingers dripping blood down the cello strings, too thin and too tired.

Too much like Then. Afghanistan was Before and After, but they, they were Then and Now.

Except for Tony, it was JUST Then, and there wasn’t a Now.

And all he could do was hope, with all his damaged heart, that Clint and Natasha had found him before it was too late. And he would not sleep.

Because every time he closed his eyes, he heard that song and saw that scene, and it hurt far more than any physical wound ever would. But eventually, he knew, he would pass out, or collapse, or they’d drug him again, and he prayed that the dreams didn’t get worse, because they definitely could.

* * *

_Their second anniversary, Tony had tried to avoid him for part of the day. Coulson had eventually tracked him down, confused._

_“Did I upset you somehow?”_

_“No, but you’re going to. Right? Yeah.” Tony wouldn’t meet his eyes._

_“What are you talking about?” he was genuinely bewildered. “Why would I do that?”_

_Tony had just stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide in shock, before returning to staring at his hands and the small mechanical device in them, fiddling. Coulson had let him sit in silence for about ten minutes before it clicked. Tony thought he was going to leave; that Coulson had gotten sick of him._

_“ _Oh._ ” he breathed._

_“What?” Tony asked, instantly tensed as though for a blow._

_“I forgot to make dinner reservations.” he lied. “We’ll just have to cook ourselves. And then I plan to stay in bed for at least a week. Possibly in Italy.” Tony’s eyes widened. “So, do you actually know how to cook anything?” It was a running joke, whenever they stayed home, since Coulson had been so surprised when Tony first cooked for him. He hadn’t expected Tony to start crying on him._

_“Hush, love,” he said. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”_

_Tony’s eyes turned on him, weeping blood, broken and hollow and nothing like the actual event. He didn’t scream or yell, he just whispered in the same tiny, broken voice, one Coulson never wanted to hear again -_

_“But you didn’t make it past four years either. You left me alone, just like the rest - the man who broke one of iron.”_

Coulson woke up screaming himself hoarse, nurses trying to hold him down and Fury’s voice in his ear, trying to calm him.

“TONY!”

They wouldn’t give him a phone.


	5. She Never Could Get Drunk Enough to Get Him Off Her Mind

Two months to the day, and they should have been together. It was their ANNIVERSARY.

Coulson promised to always at least make a phone call.

And every time the phone rang, he felt butterflies in his stomach… and then he remembered.

Coulson wasn’t going to call ever again.

Eventually, he just tore the entire phone unit out of the wall, and set about testing just how indestructible his own cell supposedly was.

When Bruce came to force him to help with an important scientific experiment, he couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or cry on the other man.

In the end, he did both, and the science didn’t really come up. It was the first time Bruce ever drank with him, though Thor took over before too long.

No matter how much he swallowed down or how far from coherency he got, one thought pulsed in the back of his head.

Three words.

Present tense.

_I love you._

* * *

_Tony yawned, curling in closer to the warm form beside him. He was exhausted in the way he only ever was when he cried deep and hard and long, and the events of the day before came rushing back, sending him shooting up like a rocket. Phil blinked at him, surprise written at the corner of his eyes and in the tenseness of his shoulders, barely visible._

_“Get back here,” he mumbled sleepily._

_Hesitant, Tony returned to that warm spot in his bed and in his home and in his heart. “Don’t we have a plane to catch?”_

_“It’s your plane. It’ll wait until you get there.”_

_Tony gaped at the other man. “Oh. Okay.” he eventually settled on, still feeling in unsafe territory. Phil was still here. No one had lasted past the year mark before, and every day he was braced, ready to be sent away. And then they hit two years, and he couldn’t take it anymore, because if he waited any longer then when Coulson did leave, it wouldn't just break him; it would shatter him completely._

_“Still promise I’m not going anywhere without you.” Coulson mumbled, half asleep, “and I’m a man of my word.” Tony would NOT cry over the same thing twice in a twenty-four hour period of time. Instead he just curled further into the -_

-cold, and the pillow that didn’t smell like Phil anymore. It was starting to smell like salt, and take a look at that, apparently he would cry about the same thing not twice, but thrice in a twenty-four hour period of time, hangover and all.

* * *

After two months, one week (68 days, three hours, twenty one minutes, eleven seconds…) Tony could tell he wasn’t getting better. If anything he was getting worse. His team was there, if he wanted to talk… but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He ate the snacks Clint and Natasha left him, but was so hungover he typically threw them back up again. He tried to drink water and couldn’t help but remember darkness without Phil in a cave so far away without Phil.

He should be moving on. Thing were supposed to get better.

But they weren’t.

“I never even got to say goodbye.”

* * *

Jarvis observed. What else, after all, was a highly intelligent AI with a lot of time on his hands to do? So he watched, and thought, and questioned.

And questioned.

For some reason, that sentence of his creators, spoken aimlessly to the empty shop, set his circuits working, grinding away at the question he didn’t know to think about. What was it about that sentence that begged for answers?

_I never even got to say goodbye._

And why was that? Human death rituals typically allowed for a viewing, and a burial. A last goodbye for the departed’s loved ones.

_I never even got to say goodbye._

“Agent Romanov, I wish to make an inquiry that may upset you.”

She paused in her knife throws. “Is it for Tony?”

“Yes, but he did not ask it. I wish to know your answer.”

“What is it?”

“Did you see the body of Phillip J. Coulson at any point?”

Natasha froze. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Did you _see_ the body of Phillip J. Coulson?”

“...No.”

“Thank you, Agent Romanov.”

Jarvis directed his attention to the archery range, waiting for Agent Barton to loose his shot before speaking up.

“Agent Barton, may I present an inquiry?”

“Sure, J, shoot.” Jarvis felt a pang; Master Stark had once said that, as peacefully even, shortly after Agent Coulson had stepped in to save him from himself, quite unknowingly at first.

“I apologize if my query upsets you, but I must ask. Did you see the body of Phillip J. Coulson?”

“No - wait, what?”

“Thank you, Agent Barton, that will be all.”

He got similar answers from Miss Potts, Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers, and Prince Thor.

_I never even got to say goodbye._

Jarvis observed. What else was an AI to do with all his spare time and intellect? Form hypothesis based on the observation, of course; and he didn't like the shape this one was taking.

* * *

“Did Jarvis ask anyone else…” sharp nods around the table answered Steve’s question. “I didn't.”

“None of us did, Captain.” Natasha said, every line in her body tight with tension.

“Master Stark is approaching,” Jarvis interrupted. “It would be best to keep our discussion hidden until I am able to pinpoint sufficient data within the SHIELD system to ensure my hypothesis.” he sounded tense and distracted. And wasn’t that a notion, that an AI could sound upset?

“Hey guys.” the shadows under the billionaire’s eyes were darker than before, and he hadn’t showered after working in the shop. He was far too thin, and by the vacancy in his eyes, Natasha hoped he’d been drinking.

Because if he hadn’t, then he was slipping away, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

“Tony,” Thor replied with a smile. “Will you join us for the meal?”

“Sure.” he said, as he usually did. Watching carefully, Clint noticed that he didn’t eat a lot, but he did eat something.

“I need some help with a technological aspect in my lab,” Bruce said. “Mind helping me out after we eat?”

“But of course,” Tony said, dredging up a shadow of his old grin.

They all hoped Jarvis found something soon.

* * *

_”Wake up, Tony.”_

_“Don’t wanna.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“You’re dead.” he huddled into the warmth._

_“Now who told you that?”_

_“Eyepatch.”_

_“I promise I’m alive.”_

_“Liar.”_

_“Wake up, sweetheart.”_

Tony woke up and Phil was still dead. Liar, he whispered to his heart as he crept down to the Room with a whiskey and a shot glass and a twitch in his fingers. Liar.

He was fresh out of tears, but a cello could sob forever.

* * *

Thor stumbled across Tony staring over the New York skyline from his balcony with a newly-opened bottle of alcohol and took a seat after grabbing one for himself. "The mourning should not have to drink alone." He stated, in response to Tony's confusion, taking a healthy gulp.

"Who said I was mourning?"

"None; and although you hide it well, there are moments when you believe no one is watching that it is clear as day."

"I was married." Tony said, surprise on his face at his own words.

"To whom, may I ask?"

Tony stared at him. "The answer may upset you."

"That is alright. Nights like these are made for such."

"Phillip J. Coulson." The iron man replied after an age of silence and a healthy amount of liquid courage. A new bottle had been opened.

Thor was surprised, and felt a stone sink to sit in the pit of his stomach; but this was not the time for guilt. "How did that come to be?"

Tony turned brown eyes to meet his, opened his mouth, and spoke. He spoke of endless parties and galas and the empty loneliness waiting at home, of a sobbing cello and haunted hallways. He spoke of the wrong side of the tracks, and disguises worn to illegal fighting matches. He spoke of a man who saw a hurting fellow and helped him home with no thought of reward or fame, of a man who swore always to return, of a man who saw through a mask. He spoke of Phillip J. Coulson as only he had known.

And when his voice had passed into silence, body leaning into Thor's and heavy with the scent of drink, eyes closed and breath light, Thor stared at the sky with a heavy heart and wondered if any would ever love him so.

Carefully, he lifted his friend, frowning at the lightness in his bones, and carried him to bed.


	6. Just a Poem From a Man Once Living Wrong

Fury sighed, inwardly, at the sight of his best lieutenant, staring aimlessly out of a window high above the world.

Well, not really aimlessly. He could hazard a guess at what the Agent was staring at, stark on the horizon line.

“Is he still alive?” Fury almost started.

“Yes.” he paused. “He’s…”

“Not well. I know.” Coulson didn’t turn, didn’t let anything enter the monotone, despite the pain at his heart. “You do know the inevitable conclusion?”

“I do.” Fury replied. “But until today, the doctors weren’t sure if you’d live, and your refusal to rest didn't help. I may have had my reasons to tell them you were dead in the first place, but I’m hardly heartless enough to do so twice.”

“Give me the files.”

“No.”

“Tell me what happened. How’d you keep him alive?”

Fury hesitated. “Well… we didn’t. Hulk did.”

* * *

Coulson could picture it in his mind’s eye. nuke flying in everything on the line, and someone wasn’t coming back, and Tony would’ve figured, hell, he didn’t have anyone to come back to, so why not him? No one would be able to claim it was suicide, not when the billionaire was doing everything to save Manhattan, and likely the world. He could picture red and gold harsh against a blue sky and a black hole, flying up and up and up -

He opened his eyes. Tony was alive, and where there was life there was hope.

This wasn’t living; his whole world was far away, just visible in the distance above the soaring skyscrapers. He belonged there, orbiting his world as it took the front stage, the defending moon ready to take an asteroid or a bullet in his defense.

A spark entered his gaze, as, clear-headed for the first time, he began to plan. If he could just get in touch with Jarvis…

* * *

Coulson was up to something. Fury could tell. His doctors and nurses could tell (after all, he’d suddenly become rather compliant with their demands); even the girl who only visited three times a day with meals could tell.

Coulson was up to something.

So Nick Fury was very, very nervous.


	7. Life is Short But This Time it Was Bigger

Life, Tony thought, rotating the gun in his hands, is far too short. His fingers should be hurting right now, but they really didn’t, despite the red marring light metal.

“Tony?” Ah, Clint.

With a sigh, he set the gun down. “It’s not loaded.” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“Oh,” Clint said, getting a closer look at the metal, heart attack fading from his face. The gun was Coulson’s favorite. “What about?”

“Life is too fucking short.”

“Amen.” Clint said, thinking over a long history of the dead.

“I keep feeling like… if I just turn, at just the right moment, he’ll be standing there all bland and with that look on his face.”

“I never could quite get it right.”

“Nah, on us it just looks sassy and cocky.” Tony replied, raising an eyebrow with a wicked grin that made Clint’s heart stop. He grinned back at the first time a smile had been halfway genuine in a long time. Still tinged with sorrow, but more controlled, now. More steady.

“Oh, there you are,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Well, you only get half of me.” Tony replied, face falling a bit, “But that’s life.”

“No.” Clint replied. “That’s death.” They shared a moment of perfect understanding, two children masquerading as men with no one but themselves and their corpses, before returning to the matter at hand. “And speaking of death, wouldn’t it be cool if, say, I could do it more efficiently?”

“What do you have in mind?”

* * *

Tony still had a hard time sleeping, eating, and just generally living. He was starting to talk again, though, and he knew enough about himself to recognize that as a healing factor. Talking was like pouring disinfectant on an open wound; it hurt like hell, but it helped.

So he talked. Bits and pieces of information, stories, moments, shared with Clint and Natasha and Thor. Thor because the man was his drinking buddy, Clint and Natasha because they understood his grief.

Bruce was his distraction when the nights were too long or the days too dark; there were still more bad days than good ones. Steve was his quiet companion when he was lonely, but wanted to be alone, a silent support asking for a decent movie or doodling on a couch nearby, there if needed.

He’d mostly stopped hallucinating his Agent standing in corners and glaring at him when he did something stupid, like not eating. Mostly.

Three months, twelve weeks, eighty-four days, four hours, eleven minutes.

He’d had a panic attack when he realized he’d lost track of the seconds, but surprisingly, he wasn’t alone. Clint was there.

And for the first time since Phil had gone, he felt like maybe the other man had actually managed to keep his word never to leave him alone from beyond the grave. Like maybe, one day, a long way off, but one day…

Maybe he could smile without sorrow again.

One day.

* * *

“Jarvis, have you found anything?” Clint asked after seeing Tony to bed, drunk, on the third month after Coulson’s death. His brain was flipping over some of the words the billionaire had spoken in his head, chief among them something about Coulson keeping a promise from beyond the grave.

“I believe so, Agent Barton.” Jarvis sounded pleased. “However, I am unable to verify without human assistance; the location I suspect is on a closed system I am unable to access.”

“Tell me and ‘Tash,” Clint instructed, heading for the practice room where Natasha would be. As soon as he arrived, Jarvis obeyed.

* * *

In the end, it was very easy. All Jarvis needed was a way to connect to the closed system. Natasha easily penetrated the SHIELD facility dressed as one of their fellow agents who worked that area, expertly matching the younger woman’s personality. She’d accessed a computer, typed in a few lines of code as Jarvis had instructed, and gone out for coffee, switching places with the actual agent (seriously, awesome lady) and heading home.

The moment the code went active, Jarvis saw all, and dialed a number.

“Fury, quit calling me -”

“I am not Director Fury, Agent.”

A pause. “How -”

“I believe explanations can wait.”

“Yeah.” Coulson said, uncharacteristically emotional. “They can. How is he?”

Jarvis’ circuits hummed with what he thought may identify with happiness and relief.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive any technical inaccuracies; I know my way around a computer, but as far as I'm concerned, Jarvis is far above my understanding and can do anything.


	8. My Kingdom Awaits

With the help of Jarvis, breaking out was astoundingly simple. He kept track of the doctors, nurses, and other personnel, and in the end, all Coulson had to do was walk out of the building to meet Natasha waiting in a cab; despite his exhaustion and injury, he'd do much, much harder for his cellist.

"Sir." Natasha said, relief touching her tone.

"Agent Romanov. Shall we?"

She hit the gas just as the alarms began blaring.


	9. Until the Night

Yesterday had been a bad day; Thor had stayed up drinking with him far into the early hours of the morning. He’d broken a string on his cello, and Phil had always gone to buy his new ones for him, and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. So without the beautiful strains of various songs (Whiskey Lullaby and This is Just a Dream the main themes) to sob out his pain for him, he’d collapsed with a bottle.

“Sooo… what exactly is this?” Clint asked, poking the mechanical device on the table.

“Don’t touch.” Tony replied. “New ‘bot.” Because that’s what he did when he felt lonely and lost and couldn’t play because he had a bandaid on every finger where his calluses weren't tough enough to handle the amount of time he spent playing. He built more friends.

“What’s its name?”

“Calcifer.” a familiar voice said from the door. Tony refused to turn and look, but he would go with the phantom voice. Phil had always wanted a robot named Calcifer, he recalled.

“Calcifer,” he echoed, munching on another chip. “Why not, we can have sentient ‘bot named after a fire demon. Hey, I’ll make it my fire extinguisher, since Dummy’s so bad at it…” he trailed away. Clint was gaping at the door, joy in his eyes, he realized. Why was that? He turned, looking around. There was his phantom Coulson and Natasha, who had quirked an eyebrow and pushed Phil towards him. He blinked and blinked again, feeling something break inside as panic clawed at his throat. “ _You can see him too_!?” Desperation gripped him in her loving arms. Again.

“I’m alive, Tony.”

NO. No, No, No, NO! “Nope, I’m dreaming again, clearly. And I have to wake up.” His breathing had picked up, he needed to get away, AWAY, but _ow_ that was the wall of the shop -

“It’s not a dream.”

“Yeah, no, yes it is.” Tony said, shoving down that ever-present hope. “Can’t be, you’re dead, no matter how many times I dream this particular scene, it’s not…” Clint and Natasha slipped out the door and a thumb he shouldn’t be able to feel caught the tears he hadn’t noticed on his face, lips pressing soft and sweet against his, warm and solid and " _real_. Just- just a dream -” his voice shattered and he leaned into his Phil, helpless to resist the lure of just another moment, another sweet little lie. “I don't _want_ to wake up. But I have to, I always have to WAKE UP-!” Warmth surrounded him, safety like he hadn't felt in months, and he wept, giving in to the dream.

If you fell asleep in a dream, you’d wake up. So he’d heard, anyway, and he couldn’t think of any better place to drift off than in Phil’s arms, dream or not.


	10. Tell the World I'm Coming Home

Coulson’s heart broke at some point between his first elated glimpse of his love and getting themselves arranged comfortably on the couch in the ‘shop.

_You can see him too?_

How many times had Tony thought he’d been there, just out of the corner of his eye, just out of sight? How many times had the one man on earth he loved dreamed of him, of being with him, of all the good times, only to wake and remember that it could never be because he, Phil, had died? How many times had he cried himself to sleep against pillows as he had done against Phil’s chest?

_I don’t want to wake up._

How many times had Tony whispered those words to the darkness? How many times had he sat in the Room with a gun and a single bullet to play a solitary game of Russian Roulette? How many times had he skipped meals? Been utterly careless in the lab or shop? Thrown himself on the wire, just in the hopes that this time, _this time_ , he could join his Phil again?

Phil wanted to scream, to kill everyone who’d kept him away from this beautiful, wonderful man, but instead he just curled himself around Tony tighter, running fingers through his hair and humming a lullaby devoid of whiskey, allowing tired fists to clutch tightly enough at his suit to tear the fabric, watching a tear slip down his love’s face in his sleep and knowing what he dreamt of.

Tony’s eyes were dark with exhaustion, shadows swooping below, dark against pale skin. He’d lost weight, though less than Phil’d any right to hope for; he’d have to thank Clint and Tasha. Tony’s fingers were wrapped in bandaids, a couple bled through, and he made a mental note to check the cello strings.

But they were alive, against all the odds, and they were together, and for the first time in a long time, he was home, and despite the pain of his wounds and the exhaustion in his bones, Phil Coulson slept.

The world could wait until morning; he was busy with his world tonight.


	11. BONUS: The Lyrics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lyrics to Tony's song, "Whiskey Lullaby" and Coulson's song, "I'm Coming Home"

_Whiskey Lullaby_

She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette  
She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget  
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time  
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind  
Until the night

[1st Chorus]  
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger  
And finally drank away her memory  
Life is short but this time it was bigger  
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees  
We found him with his face down in the pillow  
With a note that said I'll love her till I die  
And when we buried him beneath the willow  
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby

(Sing lullaby)

The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself  
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath  
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time   
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind  
Until the night

[2nd Chorus]  
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger  
And finally drank away his memory  
Life is short but this time it was bigger  
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees  
We found her with her face down in the pillow  
Clinging to his picture for dear life  
We laid her next to him beneath the willow  
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby

(Sing lullaby)

* * *

_I'm Coming Home_

[Chorus]  
I'm coming home  
I'm coming home  
tell the World I'm coming home  
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday  
I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes  
I'm coming home, I'm coming home  
tell the World I'm coming

Back where I belong  
I've never felt so strong eh  
feeling like there's nothing that I can't try  
and if you feel me put your hands high, high, high, hey  
and if you feel me put your hands high, high, hey

This is my story this is my song  
if you ain't got the heart, don't attempt to try this at home  
it's just a poem from a man once living wrong  
now I'm in the zone, tell the World I'm coming home  
been a long time coming, been a long time coming  
this song feel like the greatest of all time coming  
cause I do it B-I-G, I remember we would be high  
who'd have thought we'd be running rap when we was knee high  
to appreciate the sun you gotta know what rain is  
or cause I'm famous you don't think I know what pain is  
but I bounce back, would ya look at that  
I take my spot at the top and I ain't looking back

[Chorus]  
I'm coming home  
I'm coming home  
tell the World I'm coming home  
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday  
I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes  
I'm coming home, I'm coming home  
tell the World I'm coming

Hey, confusion like I was losing my mind  
but one thing I never lose is my grind  
my closet need a lot of cleaning now  
I can't sleep cause I don't like the sh*t I dream about  
hey Dear Lord please help me get the demons out  
and then help me get my genius out  
and get back to what I had  
if my good's outweigh my bads, do you think my mistakes is gon even out (even out)  
I guess try and see, it's on my diary, I'm living for my kids  
now they is just as fly as me  
talk well, wonder if Andre Harrell knew how great I would be when he fired me

[Chorus x2]  
I'm coming home  
I'm coming home  
tell the World I'm coming home  
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday  
I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes  
I'm coming home, I'm coming home  
tell the World I'm coming...home


End file.
